


Counterpoise

by Faith Wood (faithwood)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bestiality, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithwood/pseuds/Faith%20Wood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco, as per usual, is in trouble, but this time Harry cannot help him. Or so he thinks. Bestiality. Fully consensual. White tiger!Draco/Harry. Auror!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counterpoise

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Bestiality. Fully consensual. White tiger!Draco/Harry.

There were days when Harry was sure Draco actively tried to complicate Harry's life. Draco's latest attempt consisted of getting an Unspeakable drunk in order to extract sensitive information. Information he then used, which resulted in his current predicament.

Granted, Unspeakables were not supposed to have one too many and spill all their secrets to anyone who asked. Grounds for immediate dismissal, if anyone asked Harry.

No one had asked Harry, though. Not yet. This was Draco's mess, first and foremost, and Harry's hands were tied.

"I'm so very sorry, but there's nothing I can do," the Unspeakable said, sweating profusely because he didn't know Harry's hands were tied and his job was secure. 

"And yet you've done so much already." Hermione's clear, pointed tone could have shattered ice, and Harry was glad it wasn't directed at him. Her hair was pulled back from her face and pinned in place, a premeditated, strict look that meant she was here to help, even though, Harry was aware, she didn't like it. Hermione's presence brought an air of official business to the slimy, dark room deep beneath the Ministry and it facilitated the employment of the 'good cop, bad cop' routine, which might have been a bust, nevertheless, since they had forgotten to agree who was which. 

In truth, there was nothing official about this meeting. No one authorised them to threaten Mr Jenkins with the loss of his job. Officially, Auror Draco Malfoy's absence was justified by a nasty case of spattergroit and no one, except the three people currently in the room, knew he was in fact a victim of an experimental potion. Victim in the loosest sense of the word since Draco had brewed and drunk the potion of his own free will, knowing he shouldn't have. 

"I wasn't aware Auror Malfoy would actually drink it." Jenkins took out a handkerchief and wiped at his brow. He was a man with a plain face, limp brown hair and shockingly blue eyes. Harry would consider him handsome, but his uneasy manner ruined the effect his straight teeth and piercing eyes attempted to create. "I explained it isn't fully developed yet and the consequences —"

"Have you? That's not what I heard," Harry said, even though that was exactly what he had heard. "I was told you've been _bragging_. Claiming your potion will make Animagus training obsolete. It's ready to be used, according to you, if only the Ministry granted you the necessary funds." Harry hoped Jenkins had been drunk enough three nights ago, he didn't remember the particulars of his conversation with Draco. It had taken Harry several hours to retrace Draco's steps and work out what had happened to him. Draco was of little help as, for the last three days, he was only able to hiss and growl. Harry learned Draco had met Jenkins in a shoddy bar, not far from the Ministry. Thanks to the bartender's memory, Harry had witnessed the conversation first hand. Jenkins had warned Draco about the potion several times, but Draco had not been inclined to listen. His tactics had been shameless and he had extracted all the information he needed. Under different circumstances, Harry would have praised his brilliant Auror work.

"Well, I..." Jenkins wiped his brow again and Harry breathed a little easier. 

"All we're asking is for you to reverse the effects." Hermione's tone had turned gentle. 

She was the good cop, then. That meant it was time for Harry to threaten. "If you do, we'll make sure you suffer no consequences for your indiscretion." Harry clenched his jaw, feeling like a terrible human being. The consequences Draco would suffer for consuming an illegal potion were far more serious than those Jenkins would endure for being a lightweight drunk. The moment Jenkins realised this, Draco's career could be over. But if they hadn't asked for help, the truth would have become apparent soon enough, as Draco was firmly stuck in a body of an enormous white tiger and not even Hermione could work out how to restore him to his human form. The usual methods had failed them.

"You don't understand." Jenkins clutched his handkerchief. "This is why the Ministry hasn't approved the potion yet. It facilitates the transformation, yes, and the subject can choose its animal form, but he's the only one who can control his restoration to human form. An external spell cannot help. This is the principal difficulty I've encountered. If the subject is unwell, injured or cursed, then he cannot have the presence of mind to manage such complex magic, and the healers would be unable to restore him, which complicates the healing process considerably. And how does one confirm he's an Animagus and not just a random animal, whose death would trouble no one? Especially if the animal form is inconsistent and unregistered?" Jenkins's gaze snapped to Harry. "Are you sure that this tiger is truly —"

"Yes, I'm sure." There was no mistaking it. Well, the first time Harry saw him it was not that simple. On Tuesday night, Harry had opened the door, expecting Draco but finding a beast at his doorstep instead. Pulling out his wand had been a natural thing to do; growling and jumping on Harry had been a natural thing for a tiger to do. It was fortunate Harry had been so shocked the tiger had managed to pin him to the floor, and it was even more fortunate Harry had noticed the Dark Mark on the tiger's white front leg and dropped the hastily transfigured knife, which he had meant to slam into the tiger's wide neck. The memory still sent a trickle of cold fear down Harry's spine. He could have stabbed Draco; he could have killed him.

"But he's not injured," Hermione said. "And yet he's still an animal. There must be something you can do."

Jenkins looked miserable and any flicker of hope Harry might have had died. "If he's unharmed, then the problem must be psychological," Jenkins said. "He could be in shock, desolate, panicked —"

Harry stared at him. "So what? You're suggesting therapy? That's your solution?" 

"I'm suggesting encouragement."

"He had plenty of encouragement! All I've been doing for the last three days is encouraging him to transform. It's not—" 

"Harry."

Harry fell silent at Hermione's warning tone. 

Jenkins was giving Harry an odd look. "That's very dedicated of you. Perhaps he requires less encouragement, then?"

That was just wonderful. Jenkins turning cheeky was the last thing Harry needed. He wasn't supposed to show how much he cared about getting Draco back. 

"We will do our best," Hermione said sweetly. "Perhaps, in the meantime, you might think of something helpful, Mr Jenkins. We can count on your cooperation, can we not?"

Jenkins's head bobbed up and down. "Certainly, certainly, Miss Granger. I've never meant to imply I won't attempt to find a solution. The potion will—" Jenkins hesitated. "It will wear off in six months..." Jenkins swallowed at Harry's glare. "But I'm sure we'll think of something before then."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well then, we'll stop by soon and check on your progress." She offered Jenkins her hand and he grasped it like a lifeline, shaking it eagerly. 

Harry turned and walked out. It took Hermione a minute to catch up with him. 

"This was a waste of time," Harry told her promptly. "All we did was inform Jenkins that Draco had committed a felony."

Hermione gave him a sly look. "We also managed not to hit Jenkins. I thought that was quite a success."

"I didn't want to hit him," Harry said, outraged. "This is Draco's fault. He got Jenkins drunk, flirted with him, interrogated him. The poor guy never stood a chance." Harry knew, because Harry had been in the poor guy's shoes. One night, four months ago, Draco had flirted with Harry in a bar. The _same_ bar, in fact. Harry had been drunk and still quite straight, and the next morning he was sober and definitely bent, not the least bit upset to find Draco in his bed, naked and wrapped around Harry like a blanket. He had probably babbled all his secrets to Draco, as well. Draco simply had that sort of effect on people. 

"Oh, so he _did_ flirt with Jenkins? I wondered. Of course you wanted to hit him."

"If I were to hit anyone, it would be Draco."

"But you can't. Because Draco is, well, a tiger and you almost stabbed him on Tuesday. And now you're feeling too guilty. Hitting Jenkins is the next best thing."

Harry stopped walking. They were on the stairs now. "Do you _want_ me to hit him? Are you trying to talk me into it?"

Hermione stopped, too. "Of course not!"

"Then stop talking about it," Harry said, because now he really did feel like going back and punching Jenkins in the face.

"What I'm trying to do, Harry, is make you realise how angry you are. And it's perfectly understandable, you know."

"I'm not angry. I just want Draco to stop being a tiger." 

Hermione shushed him and pulled him to the side. A witch passed them by, glancing at them curiously.

"You _are_ angry, Harry. And it has nothing to do with Draco being a tiger. You saw Draco flirt with a man to get what he wanted and now you're wondering if four months ago he had flirted with you to get what he wanted."

Four months ago, Harry did give Draco what he wanted. 

Draco had been assigned a desk job and was stuck there for two months. Their department head never hid the fact that he had little love for reformed Death Eaters; the motive behind his decision was clear. Draco complained about it constantly; he wanted to get back in the field. Only two weeks after their meeting in the bar, Harry had spoken to Kingsley, Kingsley had spoken to Robards and Draco was re-assigned. 

"I'm not wondering about that at all." 

"No, perhaps not," Hermione said. "You're just letting it eat at you, and in the meantime you're doing nothing but yelling at Draco all the time, ordering him to transform back, which, I must say, doesn't count as encouragement." 

"I'm not yelling at him. All the time."

"Yelling and ignoring. That's what I've seen."

"You're just visiting in inopportune moments." 

" _Harry_." Hermione spoke his name like a sigh. "If he doesn't transform, you won't be able to talk to him and that's what you need to do. So control yourself, help him and then, when he's human again, tell him how you feel."

"I don't like that plan. Maybe I could just hit Jenkins. I liked that plan better."

"I bet you did," she said darkly. "But you'll do as I say because you know I'm right."

"You being right doesn't help me, Hermione. How am I supposed to help him? What am I supposed to say? Should I just, dunno, pet him?"

Hermione's hand jerked impatiently, reaching up as though to brush away stray locks of hair from her face, but then she seemed to remember her hair was pulled back and she quickly crossed arms on her chest instead. "You do know why he's a tiger, don't you?"

"Of course. Because he's a git experimenting with potions."

Hermione shook her head. "I give up."

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I _know_ why he picked a giant animal, Hermione. I talked to his Animagus trainer. Draco never even told me, but he finally managed to transform a week ago."

Hermione's face brightened. "Oh? So which animal is he?"

"I thought you knew."

"I have my suspicions. Something small and unimpressive since he felt the need to compensate."

Harry pursed his lips. "I'm not telling you."

"It's a ferret, isn't it?"

"No," Harry lied, because Draco would want him to lie. "I should go. Encourage."

"Just please try to encourage him quietly." Hermione gave him a pitying look. "And maybe you _should_ pet him. And rub his belly. Oh, and behind the ears. Crookshanks loves it."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Now you're just making fun."

She snorted. "Your boyfriend is parked in front of your fireplace, doubling for a rug. Can you blame me?"

Harry couldn’t blame her. He could blame her even less when he arrived home minutes later and found Draco where he had left him — in front on the fireplace, on his stomach, looking like a giant, impressive, beautiful rug. The actual rug beneath him was all but hidden by his size. 

"Aren't pets supposed to greet their owners at the door?" Harry stepped closer, waiting for Draco's eyes to open, but no reaction was forthcoming. Draco ought to have hissed at being compared to a pet, but he seemed content pretending he was asleep. "You should rub against my legs and purr, I'm pretty sure," Harry insisted, but Draco might as well have been deaf. Harry took off his cloak and tossed it on the nearest armchair. "I've met rugs with more personality." 

Maybe this truly didn't count as encouragement. For a few moments, Harry contemplating petting the white fur, but then he announced, "I need a shower," and strode to the bathroom. 

He didn't really need a shower, but he decided he could use a wank. Either that or a Cheering Charm, but wanking seemed more promising. In truth, he was itching for it. It was ridiculous, because three months ago he didn't even think about sex too much. He didn't have it; he didn't miss it. And now, three days without Draco's attentions had managed to make him cranky. What bothered him the most was that this situation was just so needless. They could have taken Friday off, like Harry had planned, and shagged like bunnies for three days straight. Instead, Draco went and did this.

Wanking didn't help, as Harry's cock remained stubbornly flaccid. He stroked himself for a long time, tried hard to redirect his thoughts to something pleasant, even grabbed some lube and tried to please himself with his fingers. But that just made him cross, because Draco should have been there in the shower with him, doing the things Harry tried to do himself. 

And there was a good chance that this would be Harry's fate for the next six months. 

Having successfully depressed himself, Harry stepped out of the shower and towelled himself off. In a moment of pettiness, he ignored his bathrobe in favour of Draco's delicate dressing gown that Draco must have left there on the day he had transformed. It was black and beautiful, but it felt cold and unpleasant against Harry's skin. Draco would have likely been upset to see Harry wearing it. "It's expensive, Harry," he'd say. "It's the sort of thing you wear to look delightfully rumpled and yet strangely elegant should someone happen to Floo-call. It's not the sort of thing you just throw over yourself before making breakfast. You'll ruin it. I know you will." If Harry had the energy, he'd go cook dinner right then, just to be vindictive, but instead he went back to the living room and collapsed on an armchair closest to Draco's head.

Draco hadn't moved at all. If not for the slow rise and fall of his massive body, Harry would be shaking him, fearing he was dead. Maybe he could shake him anyway. He certainly felt like it. Draco needed a good shake.

Harry's mind travelled to the memory of Draco and Jenkins flirting, to the way Draco's lips curled seductively, the way his hair would fall right back into place whenever he brushed it away, the way his eyes promised the unimaginable with every gaze, the way his deep, rich laugh caught attention of everyone in his vicinity. Harry had fallen for it four months ago and he had fallen for it again when he had seen the bartender's memory. 

"I like ferrets," Harry said.

Draco opened his eyes. And they _were_ Draco's eyes. Different shape but still the pale grey eyes Harry knew so well. Though, not well enough. It was disappointing that when the tiger had pinned Harry to the floor on Tuesday, Harry couldn't just look into its eyes and _know_. He should have. Their gazes should have met and Harry should have recognised Draco. Their gazes did meet but all Harry could see was a giant white tiger and a threat to his life. It was even more disappointing that he had only realised it was Draco when he saw the black stripes on his left front leg, which formed a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. He had thought of Draco immediately, as though Draco was the only man with the Mark he had ever met.

"They're cute. And fluffy," Harry added. Draco was staring at him. He looked threatening without even trying. Or maybe he was trying. "And small. Small enough to hide and stay unnoticed even if they're white. Perfect little spies. You know the Ministry is paying for your training, right? An Auror who is an Animagus can be useful. But not if he's a fucking tiger. A giant white tiger. What the hell are they going to use you for? An undercover mission in a Muggle circus?" 

Draco closed his eyes and Harry closed his mouth. He was yelling again. That wasn't helping, he'd been told. Told by Hermione and she was always right.

Harry stood up and sat beside Draco's head. There was little room on the rug for him; Draco took up most of the space. Harry squirmed closer and scratched Draco behind the ears. 

"Please transform," he said and Draco opened his eyes. "You can do it. You've been trained. You know how." Draco closed his eyes again. "Damn it, Draco!" Harry tugged on the hairs in his fist, pulling and pushing as hard as he could. Draco probably didn't even feel it. With all that skin and all that fur, how could he? Harry might have as well been a pesky fly.

Harry shot up. "I'm taking you to St Mungo's." He found his wand, tossed on the armchair together with his cloak, and pointed it straight at Draco. "And you're coming, whether you like it or —"

The last word froze in Harry's throat. It happened in a flash: Draco sprang to his feet in one powerful leap; it seemed as though the whole floor rose. He hissed and growled; the sound of it tore at Harry's ears and sent a chill down his spine. It was Draco, but also a tiger, a predator that could crush Harry's bones like twigs.

Harry hated himself for his momentary fear. He was not afraid of Draco, but he couldn't quell his instincts. His fingers wrapped around the wand; his palms felt clammy. 

"Transform now," he said as calmly as he could, "or I will Stun you."

Draco's next growl was equally terrifying; Harry thought he had braced himself for it this time, but Draco leapt forward and snapped his deadly long teeth, and Harry jumped back with a gasp, snatching his wand hand away.

Harry's breathing eased and the shiver that passed through him then, had nothing to do with fear. His voice lowered in anger when he said, "So what? Now you'll _bite_ me?"

Something flickered in Draco's feline eyes. He stared, stepped back, sat down, as tame as a housecat. The apology was clear and Harry was suddenly sorry he had ever picked up his wand. His limbs felt heavy and he all but collapsed on his knees in front of Draco. The wand rolled to the floor and his fingers returned to Draco's fur, clutching his head. With Draco sitting and Harry standing on his knees, it was easy to press his forehead against Draco's warm head and stare at his eyes. "Transform," Harry whispered.

Draco stared back, paws restless against the carpet. He was trying to lie back down. Pout some more. 

Harry lost his patience again. He pressed his body hard against Draco's chest, trying to force him to stay upright. "Lie back down and I _will_ hex you." Draco stilled, then pushed at Harry harder. Harry pushed back. "Don't you dare lie down. Don't you _dare_."

Draco stilled again, and then, lazily, as though he was bored, he lifted one paw and pushed at Harry's chest. Harry pushed back with all of his strength. He might as well have tried to move a mountain. The paw pressed harder against Harry's chest, and one dizzy second later Harry was on his back, on the floor, and Draco was looming over him, standing, one paw holding Harry down, nearly suffocating him with its weight. 

"Cute," Harry said, though there was nothing cute about it. He could barely breathe. A tingling shiver spread through his back. The tiger was huge; Harry didn't fully appreciate it before, but now, lying beneath it, so effortlessly trapped, Harry felt tiny. Helpless and pliable as rag doll. If Draco wanted to, he could have pressed harder and mashed Harry's ribcage. 

Draco pulled back his paw. Harry took a large gulp of air, bent his elbows, lifted his head, intending to rise. But then Draco's paw was back on his chest and Harry was pushed back down, trapped again. This time the shiver that ran up his spine was easy to recognise for what it was. The sharp tug of pleasure forced Harry to bend his knee, heel digging into the carpet, hips twitching upward. The dressing gown slipped down his thigh, pooling at his crotch.

In that moment, Harry hated himself. His body betrayed him when he had jumped back at the tiger's hiss and now it betrayed him again. He shouldn't have let Draco scare him; he shouldn't have let the tiger arouse him.

He didn't hate himself enough, though, because in the next moment he pushed upwards, as though trying to get up, but knowing he just wanted to be pushed down again, feel helpless beneath Draco's paw. His cock was filling; if he looked down, he'd see it tent the dressing gown, he knew.

"Fine, I won't hex you." Harry's voice had gone low and he cringed, feeling his cheeks and neck grow warm. "And I won't drag you to St Mungo's. Come on, get off." He needed to regain control. He needed to get up, escape to the bathroom and have the wank he failed to have before. Or maybe a cold shower was a better idea. Obscene thoughts knocked on his mind and perhaps it would be wiser not to let them in. 

He shouldn't have spoken. Draco knew how Harry's voice sounded when he was aroused; Draco's eyes travelled down Harry's body, then back up to his eyes. 

Harry's face grew even hotter and not solely from embarrassment. There was a look Draco gave him sometimes. A look Harry had first seen months ago when Draco had sucked him off in Harry's office, in the middle of the day, with the door unlocked. It had been exhilarating and terrifying; the thought of someone finding them there had sent Harry over the edge. He had filled Draco's mouth with a too loud cry and a too obvious shudder. Draco's gaze had gone calculating and since then he'd taken to whispering filthy things into Harry's ear. About fucking him on his desk, with the door open wide so that anyone could walk in and see him bent over, spread open for Draco.

Harry thought he could see that look in the tiger's eyes now. A look that told him Draco had noticed what Harry wanted and promised he would get it.

Except Harry wasn't sure he knew what he wanted. If only Draco could transform, then Harry wouldn't have to wonder. 

A tug on his chest made Harry look down. Draco's claws were out, long and deadly, digging into the fine black fabric. 

Harry held still. The fear was back. "That's your favourite dressing gown," Harry said; he barely finished saying it when Draco pulled. Harry gasped, whole body seizing up; the fabric tore as easy as paper, a long wide stripe of it ruined, revealing Harry's unscathed chest. 

"You could have..." _Tore my skin_ , Harry tried to say, but Draco's paw was already on his hip, pressing down, claws piercing the fabric. Harry stopped breathing. Draco yanked the gown and it slashed all the way to the hem. Cold air hit Harry's stomach; his cock, thick and freed, slapped against it when his hips jerked upwards.

Harry tried to muffle his moan, but it was dragged out of his throat with Draco's padded paw returning to linger threateningly on Harry's bare stomach. Harry lifted his arms over his head, clenching his hands into fists and letting them press against the carpet. Only after he did it, he realised it was a clear invitation.

In the next moment, Draco's paw was on his shoulder and then it wasn't; another tattered piece of fabric was ripped away, baring Harry's shoulder and chest. Harry struggled for breath, desperate to squirm away to safety and desperate to stay right where he was. Then Draco tore away his left sleeve, claws too close to Harry's face, then a narrow piece still clinging to the middle of Harry's chest and then another, wrapped around his thigh, so very close to his balls and cock. 

Harry was left lying naked amidst scrapes of torn black fabric, without a single scratch on his skin. His body shuddered from the effort to keep still. The urge to reach down and stroke himself was overwhelming. A tug or two and he'd be coming, he knew.

Draco stepped closer, as graceful as a cat ought to be, one paw on the left side of Harry's torso, the other on the right, hind legs settling on the each side of his thighs; his enormous white head loomed over Harry's neck. Harry felt tiny again. Naked and trapped beneath a beast that could do with him what it wished and Harry could not stop it. But Draco didn't do a thing; he just stood there, staring down at Harry, his mere presence intimidating and arousing. Harry squirmed, hips rolling pointlessly. 

"Draco," he said, not quite sure what he was asking for. His mind shied away from various possibilities, but vague images danced in front of his eyes, refusing to vanish. But Draco didn't move and didn't offer anything more, and Harry's mind cleared. He realised — Draco was waiting. This was Harry's game. He could end it. Or not.

Slowly, Harry lowered his hands, avoiding Draco's gaze, then rolled over on his stomach. The moment he did, Draco dipped his head, his breath hot on Harry's neck. Arms shaky, Harry leaned forward on his elbows, legs spread a little, knees bent a little, trying not to rub himself against the rug below. 

He waited as the air grew hotter around him, expecting a lick on his neck or shoulder, but Draco's body heat vanished gradually, moving downwards, leaving Harry's back feeling cold. 

When the awaited lick came, it rasped firmly against the cleft of Harry's arse. Harry yelped; he couldn't help himself. Draco's tongue was rough and hot, so hot Harry's arse was brimming with heat after a single lick. Draco did it again and again, long, firm licks, each delving deeper between Harry's buttocks, and Harry's head fell forward with a whimper. He dragged his knees upwards against the rug, slowly, because every lick was distracting and Harry had to pause to shudder at the harsh, wet feel of it, but soon he was kneeling with his arse raised in shameless request. 

Draco would have chuckled at that if he could. Harry could imagine it; he knew the sound well. The first time he heard it they were sitting on the sofa, right here in this living room, listening to the wireless. "Go have a shower," Draco had said, apropos of nothing. 

Harry had tried not to feel insulted, had resisted sniffing his shirt, too. He did pull away from Draco, though. "Well, that was blunt." 

Draco shook his head and smiled at Harry brightly. "Not really. Saying, 'Go wash your arse so I can stick my tongue in it,' would have been blunt. See? I was rather delicate in my phrasing."

After that, Harry was silent for a whole minute, because Draco had never offered to stick his tongue in Harry's arse before and Harry had never felt like asking. Everything was still so new back then. "There are Charms for that," Harry told Draco. He knew because Hermione Granger was his friend and Hermione Granger's friends knew these sort of things if they had previously informed her they were gay and were having gay sex. 

"Boring," Draco scoffed. "You should go and use your fingers, and do it for a really long time, thinking about what I'll do to you later."

And Harry did exactly that and when he returned, his arse ached and he was painfully hard, and Draco had kept his promise, chuckling at Harry's eagerness. 

After that, the phrases "Go have a shower," and "I need a shower," carried a clear meaning and both Harry and Draco used them with glee. 

It occurred to Harry that he had informed Draco he was taking a shower earlier and now he wondered if somewhere in the back of his mind, he was already thinking about _this_. 

Draco licked him again, this time pressing his tongue against Harry's pucker, and instead of chuckling, he purred, and Harry might have purred with him. It was far too easy to get used to the roughness; short licks and long ones covered Harry's arse, loosening him, opening, melting the bones in his thighs. It was harder to get used to the sounds. The purring that Harry felt deep inside his body; the sloppy wet sound of a big tongue scraping against sensitive skin, pressing inside. It sounded obscene. It felt amazing.

Bending his neck and looking down his body was obscene, too. But Harry did it anyway. He could see his heavy cock dangle between his legs, leaking precome on the rug; past it, he could see Draco's thick, strong legs; their fur would sometimes brush against Harry's thighs. Harry lifted his head, twisted and tried to look back at Draco. He only caught a glimpse of his huge white head, buried between Harry's cheeks; the sight of it was wrong, so wrong Harry's balls ached and he shuddered violently, close to coming. 

Draco noticed, because he always noticed these things, and he pulled away, because human or tiger, he was always a tease. 

Harry might have complained, but then Draco moved up his body, soft fur tickling Harry's back. 

Draco's paws paused right next to Harry's head, on either side. The familiar feeling of helplessness resurfaced and Harry closed his eyes, shivering. His whole body was covered with Draco's immense size. Draco was everywhere, pressed against Harry's back and arse, neck bent, his nose in Harry's hair, sniffing, hind legs touching Harry's as Harry knelt beneath him.

But Draco was motionless, waiting again, and this time Harry couldn't even pretend to hesitate. He lifted his head, rubbing it against Draco's neck as though _he_ was the cat; his whole body rubbed against Draco's fur; his shoulders, his back, his arse, skin sliding against softness. 

"Do it," he croaked and Draco purred low in his throat; Harry could feel the vibrations travel down to his crotch. Then Draco moved a little, up and down, left and right and Harry felt something hot and slick against his buttocks, sliding between them, then poking at his entrance. He thought his thighs might give; they felt so unsteady. He thought his lungs would burst; he had stopped breathing entirely. 

The tiger was so big; was all of him huge? He didn't think of it before, but now that its cock was pressing inside him, it was all he could think about. 

"Wait." Harry wriggled, shivering as his sensitive skin dragged against the fur, and reached for his wand that was still on the floor, not far away. He pushed it between his legs, casting charms with shaky, awkward twitches of his wrist. Draco shifted restlessly above him. "Okay," Harry said and Draco purred, stretched, his weight pinning Harry beneath him. The wet tip of the tiger's cock slid between Harry's buttocks again, pushing against his pucker. The pressure grew and Harry tried to relax. The moment he was breached he drew in a sharp breath, expecting pain, but the tiger's penis seemed smaller than Draco's, and Harry expelled air from his lungs in both relief and disappointment. But then Draco pushed again, hissing, _growling_ so low Harry's body shook, and then one more time, with a firm, sudden stroke, and Harry gasped, his head falling forward, his eyes firmly shut. The cock inside him felt so much bigger now, as though it was thicker toward the base, and it felt strange, rough instead of smooth, threatening with size and texture as much as Draco threatened with his growls. Harry couldn't stop shivering.

Draco went on, pushing and pushing, and Harry took it, with gritted teeth, ignoring the hot burn and focusing on the more pleasurable part of it, the feeling of being filled, stuffed, stretched wide, forced to open and accept. 

Draco bent his neck to nuzzle Harry's hair. He remained still as Harry breathed deeply. 

"Okay. It's okay," Harry said, remembering this was Draco and it was indeed okay. 

Draco pulled back, pushed back in, and it felt so different, so new and thrilling Harry welcomed it. He opened his eyes, lifted his head a little, rubbing up against Draco again, rocking his hips, even though it seemed like every part of his skin was on fire. It was too hot everywhere. Around him, inside him. He could feel drops of sweat on his temples, on his neck, on his thighs. 

Draco thrust again and this time his aim was sure. Harry moaned as the cock inside him dragged against his prostate; the rough feel of it was almost too much. He closed his eyes, picturing the sight they must make: Harry naked and sweaty, kneeling beneath a tiger, all but hidden by its size, accepting every thrust with a moan. 

Draco's pace increased and Harry couldn't keep up. He let his head fall on his hands and let Draco's every thrust push him forward. Full, then empty, then full again was Harry's only thought. His orgasm built slowly, a slow burning pressure mounting with every stroke of Draco's cock. He had never come untouched, but he knew he would this time; he knew it before his body clenched and he cried out, spilling himself over the rug beneath him. 

His body still shuddered with aftershocks, sparks of pleasure seemingly never-ending, when Draco growled and pushed deep with a sharp thrust, body above Harry and the cock inside him jerking as he came. Harry was pushed down on his stomach, pinned against the rug, arse sore and sensitive, his thighs sticky with come.

Lights danced in front of Harry eyes; he was hanging on the brink of consciousness, but he felt it, moments later, when the weight and warmth surrounding him lifted and Draco's arms wrapped around him from behind. Nothing but warm silky skin, no fur to speak of. 

"Hey," Draco said, nose pressed against Harry's neck.

If he had the energy, Harry would have snorted. He was certain that neither Jenkins nor Hermione had this in mind when they suggested encouragement. 

Draco breathed in deeply. "I missed you."

Harry pressed his cheek against the rug and closed his eyes.

They stayed like that for a while, but soon the growing chill in the air forced them to rise. They showered, and Harry made dinner while Draco cleaned the rug and tried to repair the dressing gown with several complicated but ultimately futile flicks of his wand. He had Vanished the scraps of black fabric without a word and eaten the dinner without his usual complaints.

"Handy potion," Draco said, much later, as they lay on their backs in Harry's bed, not discussing sex with animals.

"No," Harry said, not thinking about how sore he was and how much he didn't regret it. 

"I was a tiger, Harry. A tiger." Harry turned to see Draco beaming at the ceiling. "I was beautiful."

He was. But that was beside the point. "That potion's illegal, Draco. And you're an Auror."

"And strong." Draco appeared to be daydreaming. "And fast. And big."

_Too big_ , Harry would say if they were discussing sex with animals, but they weren't, so Harry said, "It's an experimental potion with unpredictable consequences. For the next six months, you shouldn't transform. And then you must never drink the potion again."

Draco turned his head. It was dark, but Harry could see his grey eyes clearly. "You liked me. You liked the tiger."

Harry stared at the slight curl of Draco's lips, wanting to kiss it. Instead, he said, "That night at the bar, when I was drunk and you flirted. Did you approach me hoping I'd help you get back in the field?"

Draco's expression didn't change; it looked frozen on his face. Moments passed and then Draco swallowed and said, "Yes." The knot in Harry's stomach loosened. Draco didn't look like a tiger, then, he looked like a ferret. "But, Harry, that was _months_ ago. Since then—"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said.

Draco stared at him. "You're... _You_ 're sorry? For what?"

"For not telling you I knew. I knew exactly what you were after, the moment you walked in and sat at my table." He knew it when Draco first complained about it; he knew it when he spoke to Kingsley about Robards abusing his position; he knew it later that day when Draco had fallen to his knees and thanked Harry by swallowing his cock and giving him an orgasm that left Harry weak-kneed and breathless. 

And he knew that Draco got what he wanted but he was still here, still in Harry's life, in his bed. He was in his kitchen in the mornings begging to be fucked over the counter. He was in his bed at night with his nose pressed to Harry's neck, telling him he had dreamed about showing up at work dressed in fluffy feathers and that was why he had woken up screaming, and no, his nightmare had nothing to do with Voldemort. 

He knew and he didn't let Draco know it was all forgiven and forgotten. "I knew your Animagus form would be a ferret. The moment you told me it's something furry and white. I should have told you that, too. Maybe then you wouldn't have gone and done something so stupid, drinking an illegal potion just to impress me. As though I don't know you. As though you have to pretend to be someone else. And you _don't_."

Warm air brushed against Harry's face as Draco breathed. He stared at Harry for a long moment before shaking his head. "Harry, no. For Merlin's sake, why do you always have to feel guilty for everything? Always the martyr. I was the one who—"

"You're Draco Malfoy," Harry said, placing a hand on Draco's chest. "You flirt with everything that moves to get what you want, you're a lazy brat and your Animagus form is a ferret. I know you and I love you. So just... shut up and don't apologise for being you."

Draco looked away. Harry could feel the warmth of his body through his pyjama top; Draco's heart was beating very fast. "I'm not lazy," Draco said eventually. "And you liked the tiger."

"The tiger was you. So your point is moot. And you're _extremely_ lazy."

"Occasionally lazy. And you wouldn't have sex with a ferret."

"We're not discussing sex with animals," Harry reminded him. "And sex with ferrets is just not feasible. So stop arguing."

"I'm Draco Malfoy and I like arguing."

Harry grinned. "And I like telling you to stop." 

"Telling never works. _Make_ me stop."

Harry rolled over, right on top of Draco. "And that's why I like it."

Draco's expression grew serious again. "I am sorry, though. Not for seducing you. " He smiled a little, almost shyly. "If I hadn't done it for all the wrong reasons, I wouldn't have done it at all. Wrongdoing gives me courage. But I'm sorry for drinking the potion. That was... unwise."

"And this is a monumental occasion. I'll cherish it always. I wish I recorded you saying you're sorry. And you said it _twice_. And you admitted you were wrong. Are you sure you don't want go to St Mungo's?"

"You know, you're very cheeky for someone who just had sex with a—"

Harry kissed him. 

"I have to say," Draco breathed, minutes later. "I was a very cute ferret. I mean, if you're into the whole fluffy thing." Draco snickered. "Which you are."

With a groan, Harry buried his head in the crook of Draco's neck. "Stop talking about it."

Draco's lips dragged against Harry's ear as he said, "You're Harry Potter, a terrible cook, and a martyr with a penchant for kinky sex, including but not limited to sex with tigers. I know you and I love you."

Harry had to laugh, even as the warmth of his cheeks travelled down to his chest. He lifted his head.

"And I just had a shower," Draco added quickly. 

Harry snorted. "So did I."

"Don't be greedy," Draco said and wriggled beneath Harry, turning around to lie on his stomach. "My tongue was four times longer than normal earlier. You obviously owe me four rim-jobs."

Harry laughed again, his hands already travelling downwards to slide Draco's pyjama bottoms over his hips. He bent down to press his nose to Draco's hair, and kissed the back of his neck. "Welcome back."


End file.
